


Better to Speak or Die?

by freckleslikeconstellations



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: African-American Character, Anger, Angst, Awakening, Black Lives Matter, Britain, COVID-19, Coronavirus, Equality, Fluff, Hope, Human Rights, Humour, Injustice, Jealousy, London, M/M, Mentions of America, Pain, Police Brutality, Racism, Romance, Sensitive themes, Speaking out, allusions to slavery, gay relationship, government work, growing relationship, mentions of deaths, mentions of lockdown, mentions of protesting, post-series 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24552769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: A reunion and a murder makes Mycroft re-evaluate his relationship with a certain someone and his choices in life because it could have been someoneheknows. Someone who means a great deal to him and it gets to a point where silence is not an option any more. Where itcan'tbe...
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Original Male Character
Kudos: 95





	Better to Speak or Die?

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a quote in, 'Call Me By Your Name,' which I found weirdly appropriate for what we are now-and hopefully will be brave enough to continue-confronting, even after it drops out of the media. I hope that if the combination of coronavirus and the death of George Floyd can result in anything then it will be a fairer society. 
> 
> This is not meant to be a preachy fic, and cannot of course cover every injustice that minorities face. Though it does not mention George Floyd's case by name and is meant to be taken more as a tribute to every black person who has died as a result of police brutality it does make references to the case and contains sensitive themes throughout. 
> 
> It is meant to be a story of awakening, romance and hope in a troubled world.

Ethan gets back in the early evening after having been on an essential shopping trip, the veins on his bare forearms corded tight like the thread of his lilac top as he holds a couple of stripy red and white plastic bags. Mycroft always tuts at the fact that rather than use the Bag for Life that he has Ethan pays extra for the plastic ones and he does so from where he's working by the circular table in the apartment now. 

"Still wishing that you were abroad?" Mycroft taps his fountain pen down uselessly against his papers, looking at the tall, gangly man with his short and bristly dark hair. Perspiration glistens on the side of Ethan's brown eyes from carrying the bags upstairs in the heat and even dips down into the visible grooves of his collarbone. Mycroft wants to wipe it away, but instead he clears his throat. 

"Hell yes," Ethan comments dryly and Mycroft smothers up a fond laugh as he remembers how much he had missed the man when he'd been out of the country. Ethan looks at him knowingly, flipping his triangular eyebrows upward, as he ambles past him to put the bags down upon the counters. He starts to diligently pull out and put away what he has just bought and Mycroft twists around in the wooden chair, his arm going to rest on the back of it, so that he can watch him. 

He has known Ethan for a while now. The younger man had come to stay with his family when Mycroft had just started off in government. African-American with a mother who is a friend of Mycroft's _own,_ he had been sent to them by mutual agreement after the death of his father at the hands of a white police officer. Ethan had taken against authority after the incident and _both_ of their mothers had seemed to think that he would be safer in Britain. Mycroft, whilst he hadn't lived at his family home for any longer, had been _against_ the arrangement to start off with, partly out of jealousy and a _fear_ that his mother was replacing him and partly because his brother Sherlock had been enough of a handful as it was, but his mother had been insistent. Perhaps as a punishment for the little remarks that Mycroft had made Ethan had been sent his way after he'd finished his final year of secondary school and had stayed with him, as had Sherlock on occasion, as the pair of them had gone through college. Ethan had, had no idea what he had wanted to do in life though, however, and Mycroft had suggested that he help out different causes abroad. [He'd _also_ thought it would be nice to have Ethan out of his hair for a while, but to his surprise he'd missed his presence and had looked after the old apartment that they'd stayed in rather than get rid of it, even though Mycroft now has fancier places. He _had_ found it useful to have someone who could help out with the odd problem abroad though and Ethan had mostly been compliant to his wishes.] The last of Ethan's postings to help out a worthy cause, and the one in which he has recently come back from, had been the most enjoyable one for Ethan. Ethan had been helping to protect elephants from poachers in Virunga National Park in the Democratic Republic of Congo. He'd sounded tired, but enthusiastic whenever Mycroft and he had managed to speak through what Mycroft had partly known had been a bad connection and sometimes Ethan just _pretending_ that it had been a poor one. He hadn't _needed_ Mycroft as much any more and Mycroft hadn't _known_ how he felt about that because the fact that Ethan had required his attention had got him through the time when Sherlock _hadn't_ done as much. He'd moved back into the old apartment when the coronavirus had started, and _when,_ through a combination of Mycroft thinking that it was better that Ethan return sooner rather than risk getting trapped out there and a bad incident that had involved several of the wider team that Ethan had worked with, but people that he hadn't known directly, being killed by poachers, had meant that Ethan had returned to the UK, Mycroft had been waiting for him. Ethan had been surprised and feared that the _only_ reason that Mycroft was there had been to tell him that he should self-isolate for a couple of weeks. That hadn't been the case, however, and he'd gradually relaxed when he'd figured out that _all_ Mycroft had apparently wanted was for the pair of them to see out the strange time together. Of _course_ Mycroft had worded it like he was just trying to do both Ethan and their mothers a favour and keep him company, but the pair of them had _known_ what it had meant-that Mycroft had missed Ethan-and Mycroft was sure that Ethan had thought he was going soft in his old age, whilst Mycroft _himself_ had noticed that Ethan had matured _more_ since his return, finally a man in more than just age now, more responsible and capable of doing things. Mycroft had grown all the fonder of Ethan and he feels the tender spot in his heart activate as he realizes what conversation they will have to have. 

"Here, let me." Mycroft rises at seeing Ethan bringing the chopping board out in front of the newly purchased peppers that he has left out on the counter and besides a knife. Ethan's furrowed brow smoothes and he concedes. Mycroft is the better cook and he has had to find a plaster for his young protégé on _more_ than one occasion when Ethan has tried. Ethan steps aside, allowing Mycroft to come into the space, but wanting to stay close and watch him initially. Mycroft picks up the knife, frowns and lowers it, so that it is resting upon the counter. He turns so that he is facing Ethan. 

"What is it?" Ethan grows concerned. 

"There's been an incident in America," Mycroft tries to be gentle, but finds that it comes pretty easily when it relates to Ethan. His eyes _plead_ for Ethan to not over-react and instead be the calmer person that he has been over these past few weeks, whilst his hands fight against touching the other man's shoulders in order to try and offer him any small comfort. 

"An _incident?"_ Already Ethan looks agitated and Mycroft swallows. 

"It broke not too long ago. A black man has been killed by a white police officer," Mycroft barely has to say the words, before everything seems to drain out of Ethan and become replaced by panic and fear.

"I need to call my Mom," his old American accent comes out more than the standard British one that he has adopted. Mycroft had predicted what Ethan would want and the cordless landline phone is already in his hand by the time that Ethan says those words. He holds it out to the other man and Ethan looks at him gratefully. 

"Thank you." He takes it and grasps at Mycroft's shoulder quickly as he passes. 

The touch lingers and itches for a long time afterwards as Mycroft chops the required vegetables and begins dinner, listening to one half of Ethan's conversation through the ajar door of Ethan's bedroom. He can hear the sound of distress in the man's tone, the pacing of his footsteps, but still the _relief_ in a way that comes from being able to talk to his mother and someone who is _able_ to understand the situation...

Mycroft pushes the chicken dish into the oven, as the yellow light of the fading day bathes the apartment in its glow and tries to work out what he might say to Ethan when he returns. Should he try and offer him comfort? Talk it through? Or would that just aggravate Ethan? Make him say that he doesn't understand, which he _doesn't_ really of course. He can emphasize with some of the frustration that Ethan is feeling and feel it _himself_ to a point at the ridiculous reasons that people still find, or persist with, to keep from treating people equally and the things that are still _done_ because of those reasons. He cannot _feel_ the sense of persecution or the same acuteness of grief, even _though_ he does feel sad about it all. He has not been hounded or gone through the same things that Ethan has because of his race. He frowns, again wondering if the difference in his feelings towards Ethan of late is an appropriate thing for him to be having. He _knows_ what will be said and what comparisons will be made just because he is an older, white man and Ethan is black...that is if Ethan would even _deign_ to have the same feelings as him. 

He hears an embarrassed, gruff laugh coming from the bedroom and his attention once more hones in on Ethan. 

The man comes out of there a moment later, holding the phone out towards Mycroft. "Mom thinks that I wouldn't even have checked in with her if it wasn't for your influence. That I would have just been _angry...."_ He rolls his eyes. 

Mycroft takes the phone from him with a barely perceptible smirk on his face and starts what will be a brief conversation with Ethan's mother, telling her how sorry he is to hear of the events there that day, aware that _Ethan_ is listening in to _him_ this time. 

As the conversation between Mycroft and his mother draws steadily to a close Ethan checks on the chicken, nearly burning himself as he does so. 

"Oven glove," Mycroft tuts, saying a quick farewell to Ethan's mother and steering the man towards the sink. Ethan grumbles and holds his hand under the cold tap for a moment. Mycroft resumes dinner duties, serving a few minutes later to a disgruntled Ethan who has taken up occupying the table and only shows an interest in Mycroft's work, which the older man quickly clears from the table. "That is _not_ for your eyes," he reprimands, setting the bowl of dinner in front of him instead. 

Ethan smirks, before his face quickly falls. "I'm still angry. Black people are more likely to die from coronavirus, people are losing their jobs and now _this_ again. People can only go through so much," he comments, before he adds, "Mom was really distressed." He turns his head in the direction of the dinner and breathes in its scent, but doesn't actually touch it. 

"Yes. Both you and her are bound to be upset." Mycroft joins Ethan tentatively with his _own_ portion of the meal. He begins to eat it at once, more for something to do than anything else, but Ethan just pushes his _own_ meal away and makes a 'tch' sound.

"I am _more_ than just upset. How many times have _you_ been stopped and searched Mycroft?"

"Whilst living in this city?" Mycroft tries to buy himself some time. Ethan nods. "Not once I think." He grimaces apologetically, feeling embarrassed in that moment. 

Ethan makes an impatient noise. "Figures. A police officer stopped and asked me what I was doing when I went out just now. Said that even though the lockdown is easing I should still be careful, as if I don't know, as if I am _stupid"-_

"I'm sure that"- Mycroft begins, about to say that, that hadn't necessarily been an issue of race and that it might have been a prejudiced thought about Ethan's age instead or a police officer simply _thinking_ that they were doing their duty, but stops when Ethan glares at him. The younger man stares down at his wrists then. There are faint marks there from where his hands had been handcuffed one time and Mycroft _knows_ that he is remembering when Ethan had been arrested simply because the police had thought he had matched the identity of a suspect. He had not been _asked_ his name or told to give any form of identification until he'd been at the station. Mycroft had, had to get him out of there. It had been a humiliating experience for the pair of them and one that they _hadn't_ shared with Ethan's mother. She'd only be upset by the thing. Upset because the truth is that as much as the Holmes family has _tried_ to protect Ethan-

"Britain's just as racist as America. You lot only hide it better."

"Might I ask you not to tar _me_ with the same brush?" Ethan looks at him angrily. " I _know_ that there are some awful people out there and Britain's history in _itself_ is..." Mycroft starts off inelegantly. "But you know that there are some good people in authority from your _own_ work over the years. There are good people in government. There are _good_ police officers." 

"You been speaking to your ex of late?" Ethan refers to Greg Lestrade [or _Gregory_ as Mycroft had called him] a police officer who Mycroft had dated, in a snippy fashion. 

"We have not spoken, no." Mycroft purses his lips. "And maybe I should keep that heated up for you?" He nods at Ethan's dinner, which he has _still_ not touched. "It might be all right for you to have later"-

"I don't _feel_ like eating," Ethan hisses, clearly upset. 

"No." Mycroft is unsure of what to do. 

"What have _you_ done Mycroft? You've been in government all these years. What have _you_ done to make the lives of people like me easier?"

"I"- 

"All the people that you are friends with, everyone that you know, aside from your brother and parents, they would all think me a criminal just because"-

"It's a good thing that I don't _have_ any friends then," Mycroft cuts him off, before he can go any further. 

Ethan lets out a puff of laughter and pulls his dinner towards him at last, managing a few mouthfuls. "It's good."

"I'm glad." Mycroft is relieved that he had been good for _something_ at least and tries to reassure himself that he _has_ been doing enough in government to improve the lives of _everyone,_ not wanting to admit the awful truth to himself. That _he,_ like everyone else, has just coasted along and found things to be to his advantage, partially because of his skin colour. 

*

Ethan is still very troubled and _inflamed,_ as the week goes on, by what is happening in America, _especially_ with the reports of peaceful protests turning violent and the violence being created by the police officers as _well_ as some people who had taken advantage of the protest in order to commit crime. Mycroft knows that Ethan would be tempted to return to America if travel restrictions because of the virus weren't still in place and if his mother wouldn't _scold_ him for going there in a hot-headed state and not thinking about his health. Mycroft knows that she is probably relying on _him_ to look out for her son, but knows too that it will be damn near _impossible_ to stop Ethan from going on a protest march in London that weekend and he's not sure if he _wants_ to. Social distancing is probably out of the window, but as long as Ethan is careful and uses a mask as the _least_ precaution against the virus then he has every _right_ to use his voice. 

He knows he can't stop him so the night before the protest Mycroft tells him, "Take Sherlock with you tomorrow."

Ethan is lounging on one of the armchairs, stewing over something more than reading the book that he's holding open on his lap and he looks up at Mycroft in surprise, just as Mycroft puts a cup of tea down on the side table for him. He nods in gratitude for the tea. "I thought you wouldn't _want_ me going?" he remarks, trying to drink the tea too early as he normally does and pulling a face and blowing on it when it proves to be too hot for him. 

"It's your personal choice, Ethan. I'm not going to interfere. All I suggest is that it might be a good idea to have someone else with you as back-up and I'm sure that Sherlock would be able to evoke the appropriate spirit better than I." He smiles a little tiredly at the man, before he settles in the armchair opposite him with his _own_ cup of tea. 

"You might be able to stop me from doing something stupid better though." Ethan looks at Mycroft only _half_ -jokingly. 

Mycroft looks at the younger man curiously, before he decides to _only_ take the direct meaning of the thing. "That's true," he chuckles a bit late, "Sherlock _does_ have a bit of a reckless side to him, but I am trusting you _both_ to be sensible in this instance, knowing that you will be hearing from our mothers, as _well_ as me if you are not."

"Better be on my best behaviour then." Ethan smiles around his tea. Mycroft's stomach does something funny in that moment and he looks reprimandingly at his _own_ tea, as if it is responsible for the thing. _"Mycroft?"_

_"Hm?"_ He looks back at Ethan. "Oh yes, I've been meaning to tell you and I don't want you to think that just because I'm not going protesting myself, that, that doesn't mean that I'm not angry with what's happening and what _has_ been happening. I'm very sorry that this has occurred and that it has led to all these painful memories re-surfacing for you. That such things _keep_ on happening." He thinks back to how his _own_ mother had, had to comfort Ethan one Christmas time when Mycroft had been home for the holidays. A black man had been killed by a white police officer then as well. This has been going on for far too long... 

Ethan looks at Mycroft a little strangely. He is not _usually_ that upfront about issues that are painful, awkward and emotional, Mycroft knows that _himself,_ and yet he'd felt a building urge to say these things all week. 

"Thank you...and _yeah._ I know that protesting's not your thing old man." Ethan gets up with a bit of a grin on his face, grasping at Mycroft's shoulder, before he heads to the kitchenette, drinking his tea on his way and depositing the then empty cup upon the counter. 

"Less of the _old,"_ Mycroft says reprovingly, but he's smiling too and he spends a long time, once Ethan has retired to bed, looking at his shoulder curiously. Is Ethan trying to give him a hint or is he just _hoping_ for one?

*

Mycroft's working from home the next day. He's supposed to be tidying up a few loose ends, before the new week begins, but he can't stop himself from thinking about Ethan and the protest and what Sherlock and he might be _going_ through in that moment. He thinks about accessing CCTV via his work laptop and checking on the pair of them through there, but in the end, and wanting to hopefully more _quickly_ assuage his fears without having to set everything up, he switches on the news. The media have been covering the protests in America all week and so _should_ hopefully be covering the one in London as well. Thankfully they are. He searches for Ethan and Sherlock, but cannot locate them in the chanting, placard-waving crowd. It does not help either that the camera is doing more of an _overview_ of the crowd, but _still_ he watches, hoping to get a glimpse of either one of them as the crowd marches on to the US embassy. 

Once they are there Mycroft stands up and the breath seems to leave him as he sees how one by one the mass of peaceful protestors lie down on the ground, their hands behind their back, as they chant the words, 'I can't breathe,' just like the man who had died had tried to tell the police officer. The camera hones in and Mycroft's heart _jumps_ as he spots the figures of Ethan and Sherlock. The camera moves in on Ethan. A young black man, he is _eerily_ similar in that moment to the man who had been killed. Tears prick at Ethan's eyes as he chants determinedly from the ground, the mask over his nose and mouth moving and threatening to slip as he speaks. Mycroft's stomach churns at the sight of him. He thinks of Ethan the stereotypical young, angry black man, as Mycroft had wrongly viewed him solely as when Ethan had _first_ got to the country. Thinks about the Ethan who had taken to Sherlock at first more than him because Mycroft had seemed to represent everything that Ethan had hated, so he'd chosen instead to wage pranks together with Sherlock. Pranks that Mycroft had been _told_ of by an exasperated, but already fond Mummy. Thinks of Ethan crying in his mother's arms. Ethan and he slowly coming to respect one another as they'd come to live with one another. How Ethan had grown more tolerant of people in authority as long as _they_ had played by the rules in turn. The Ethan who had been upset after the discovery of Eurus and what Mycroft had hidden from them. The Ethan who had slowly started to find his way in the world more independently and developed a passion for helping others. The gentle, more at ease with himself man who had returned, fresh from helping the rangers who had protected elephants against poaching. The man who had shown him some photos of his time away and who had grown more and more enthusiastic as he'd scrolled through each one. His brown eyes had lit up with such joy and in such _contrast_ to how he'd appeared when they'd first met that Mycroft had stared and stared. The anger that he'd had for the deaths of his colleagues had been more complicated than just a raw feeling as well. He'd wanted to have _justice_ for them. That man has a _right_ to discover more about himself and the world. To have a job, partner and family if he so wishes. To have fun. To go out without having to _worry_ about being stopped and searched only because unconscious bias makes people believe that people of colour are more likely to be the ones who are committing crimes in the world. Ethan should be able to rise up in a system that is _not_ against him. As long as it is legal then he should be able to do whatever he wants to. Life is difficult enough _without_ these additional barriers in place and Mycroft realizes in that moment that he has _not_ been helping out as much as he should have in this matter, that he has been silent at times when he should have spoken up just to make it easier on himself or quicken certain policies going through and _nothing_ that he has been doing in government has lessened the fact that black people are more likely to be living in cramped conditions, on low-wage, but important jobs, as the pandemic has showed, in poverty and more likely to have difficulty accessing healthcare. Not to mention the additional trouble that people who are black and gay and black transgender people might face, trouble that is _barely_ shone a light on in the news, as if those people don't even matter-

_"Mycroft?"_

Mycroft whirls around. It is then he realizes, from the sound of the news behind him, that it has moved on to something else and that he has been thinking of the injustices that people have to face-people like _Ethan,_ because it could have been _Ethan_ being stopped by those police officers, Ethan on the ground, _Ethan_ saying that he can't breathe-for a long time because Ethan is now back, the grey of the evening is in the room and Mycroft cannot stop himself any longer.

He bridges the gap between them, his face turning apologetic when Ethan nearly stumbles back in surprise at the suddenness of Mycroft's movement, grasps him by the shoulders, looks at him squarely in the eye and tells him, "Your life matters. _You_ matter. You were right before. I haven't been doing enough. I'm going to do better now, see if I can change _anything_ about this bloody rigged system." Then, much to both of their surprise, Mycroft kisses him, his lips moving softly and earnestly against the other man's larger ones, asking for forgiveness, for Ethan to _still_ have faith in him. Ethan pulls back. "Sorry I"- Mycroft pats at Ethan's top, getting the creases that he has just put into the shoulders out and making to draw back his hand. He doesn't think he has been _that_ impulsive since he was a young boy who had stolen honey from Mummy's garden. 

"No." Ethan clasps Mycroft's hands back down. Mycroft looks surprised, but the easy-going smile that toys over Ethan's face soon relaxes him. "I was just thinking that at least _one_ person who's in authority is on my side, huh?" Mycroft smiles a little bashfully, still unsure as to whether Ethan is accepting or _rejecting_ his advances. Ethan's grin grows wider. "Don't you know by now old man? All the frustration, the many _ways"-_ his voice is liquid like a river that sends out ripples across Mycroft's soul-"In which I have _tried_ to stop myself from falling in love with a man like you. _With_ you." It is painful for Mycroft to breathe. "To no avail." Ethan shakes his head mock-somberly, his lips threatening to quirk upwards. "And the more that time goes by the more that I haven't _wanted_ to." He slides his hands gently on to the planes of Mycroft's face, swiping his thumbs a little against his cheeks, caressing, _reassuring,_ before he goes on to _teach_ Mycroft with his kisses about how he feels. Mycroft lets out a soft breath in between them when they break for air. 

"I wasn't sure that you felt the same," the older man reveals. 

"I thought that way about you," Ethan joins in, "That a man like you would _never_ want me, despite the fact that you missed me," he smiles. 

Mycroft pecks kisses on different parts of Ethan's face, whilst Ethan strokes at his back encouragingly. Rain patters lightly on the windows in the background. It hasn't rained for so long. It feels like a _release_ in that moment. There are still some fears in Mycroft's mind, however, and he pulls back regretfully. "People will"-

Ethan scoops up Mycroft's face with his hands and guides him towards him again. Their bodies tingle against one another pleasantly. "I have just come back from a protest against what people have been doing and saying. I don't _care_ how people will talk about us Mycroft. I am used to it." He rubs his lips together for a moment, whilst he thinks about something. "I understand if it is too much for _you_ though...your _reputation,"_ in spite of what he is saying he almost spits that last word out. 

Mycroft draws away from him a little and gently swipes Ethan's cheekbone with his knuckle. "I think I lost my reputation a _long_ time ago Ethan," he says, before they are kissing and in that moment there is hope that love and acceptance might lead to a better world. _Hope_ for the future.


End file.
